Per Chaos et Tenebras
by minnie313
Summary: A Twissy story beginning at the cemetery, and evolving from then on. I have a little idea where I'm going with this, now ;) there will be action, a teensy bit of romance, confrontations, contemplations, etc.
1. Chapter 1 : Inter sepulcra

A/N : Hello everyone ! Here come my first Twissy fanfiction. I really don't know how it will turn out or whether I shall be able to finish it, but I had this idea running around in my head and driving me positively mad. I had to write it and post it ;)

Since it is my first Twissy one, I apologise for any OOC-ness that may occur. By the way, English not being my mother tongue, feel free to point out any mistakes I might have made – so I can improve myself .

**Disclaimer :** I don't own Doctor Who or any of its characters, they all belong to the BBC, Moffat and the actors.

**Title :** Per Chaos et Tenebras

**Summary :** well, a Twissy story beginning at the cemetery, and evolving from then on. (I still don't know where this is going, which is a tad embarrassing/annoying)

**Rating :** T, but may go up in later chapters (I don't know yet).

_**Chapter I : Inter sepulcra…**_

It was strange the way it happened. How was it that the only person you thought might understand would be the one trying to kill you now? the one pulling your atoms apart?

You had revealed your purpose to him. Defeated, you had surrendered. You had submitted yourself to his will, to his decisions.

Then, _Clara, _the human girl _you _had chosen, had lost her head. She had forced his hand, preaching for your death instead of the 'shackles' he had always had in mind for you.

He and you were looking straight in each other's eyes. Once guarded yet bright, his irises were now a dull and haunted powder blue grey. Once playful, manic, calculating and adoring, yours were now a defeated yet understanding icy blue. Your souls were laid bare for each other to see yet it seemed you could not read him anymore, you could not reach him. This time, he would even not let you try.

In your defeated, submissive, disbelieving – and quite contradictorily – understanding state of mind, all you could feel and see was that he seemed ready to kill you, this time. This time, he would not hold you in his arms and cry when you refused to regenerate. This time, he would be the one pulling the trigger.

"_My dear Doctor Idiot, corrupted at last"_ Inwardly, the bitter thought brought you a cynical smile. For once, bringing down his righteousness was no comfort to you, no pleasure, since it meant your death, since it had not been your purpose. No, this time, you had simply wanted to make him _see, _to make him _understand_, to rile him up a little of course, since it made him look so handsome. If each time his attention is what you crave the most, what you had wanted in this occasion, for his birthday, was to make sure you two would go back to the friendship that allegedly seemed to have gone with the remnants of your sanity.

He was, however, as much of an idiot as he ever was, as unreachable, as infatuated with Earth and his little human friends, as willing to save them. Indeed, he was ready to kill you, Missy – The Mistress, The Master, a fellow Time Lord, a peer, an old friend – , if it meant saving a _human_'s soul.

The thought made you sad, bitter, sick, empty for as usual he wouldn't choose you. So, when he spoke those two words, nice though they were, and filled with emotion, they brought you little comfort. You replied with emotion and braced yourself…

A few moments later, wordlessly, you were gone from the cemetery, leaving behind a puzzled yet satisfied human girl and a shocked Time Lord.

TBC…

A/N: Liked it? Hated it? Please review to let me know what you thought ;)

"Inter sepulcra" means "Amongst the tombs" in Latin


	2. Chapter 2 : Tempestas animi

A/N : Hello again ;) Here comes the second chapter, I hope you'll enjoy it ;)

**Disclaimer :** I don't own Doctor Who or any of its characters, they all belong to the BBC, Moffat and the actors.

**Title :** Per Chaos et Tenebras

**Summary :** well, a Twissy story beginning at the cemetery, and evolving from then on. (I still don't know where this is going, which is a tad embarrassing/annoying)

**Rating :** T, but may go up in later chapters (I don't know yet).

_**Chapter II : Tempestas animi **_

CVLPA ET LACHRIMAE

Clara had just gone home and the Doctor hurried to put the TARDIS in orbit. Faster, faster, quick, quick, quick! He had to get away from Earth as fast as possible, before he crashed on the ship's floor.

He grabbed the banister and made his brisk way to the console, flicking levers and pushing buttons, sending the ship to the Vortex, before clutching the side of the console. He was clinging to it so tightly his joints were white. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to inhale as he recalled the events at the cemetery that were torturing him so.

Panic! Shock! Pain! Anger! Affection – deeprooted! Love – so much it hurts! Guilt – so strong it is killing him!

"_Aaaargh! Guilt! Guilt! Guilt! Guilt! Why the guilt ?! " _

_She _was the one who had tried to take over Earth and convert all its inhabitants – whether living or dead – to Cybermen!

And whatever for ?! To get his fucking attention ?!

"_H-How –How could she think that I… ?"_

He ran an hand over his face, his eyebrows crossed. He sighed. Of course, she would have. That was the way the Master always acted : making up new plans of conquest, trying to make him his ally, trying to turn him away from everything and everyone else. No, it should not have surprised him that she had cheated death –again. No, it should not surprise him that she would give him an army –of Cybermen, of all things! – for his birthday.

Then, Clara… He sighed again. She had acted the way anyone would, trying to take revenge. Yet he had felt anger. Such anger! What?! She would force his hand?! That Missy had to receive some kind of punishment –that was true. That humans might want to take some part in its decision… - he had to admit to their right in the matter. But HE was the one who was to decide – hadn't they made him _President _?- and he could never want Missy, The Mistress/The Master, _Koschei, his friend _dead. At the very worst he would have kept her in custody in the TARDIS, with him, never to leave the ship. But to have her killed?!

And the girl had felt his deep connection to the Time Lady, his hesitation, his unwillingness to hurt her. Indeed, the reasoning she used on him was both logical and frightening. Mostly because it seemed sound, because it was powerful. Yes, she had basically told him to get his Gallifreyan ass out of the way so she could shoot her intended target!

The Doctor was forcing himself to inhale and exhale slowly, trying to relax his body, to put his hands off the console as his brain showed him _again_ how he had preferred to take it upon himself to kill Missy.

"_And why was that ? Why the fuck did I have to do that?!_" he sighed again, resigned this time. _"Yeah, I wanted to spare Clara, she couldn't have lived with herself once the shock would have passed. And, yes, I wanted to keep that act private, just between s/he and I. Mostly, I hoped…" _

That last part, he could not yet admit to himself. He had hoped he would have the nerve to betray one friend to save another: betray Clara, save Missy. He didn't want to have to live in a universe, a dimension, where he would be the sole remaining Time Lord. And maybe she could have become better, stopped wishing to rule the universe, and they could have been friends again. Of course, in their own twisted way, they _had_ remained friends… of sorts.

"_Yes, I wanted my friend back too."_

That truth, the TARDIS was now forcing him to utter it, if only in the secret of their link. He had wanted Missy here for safekeeping. But who would have been kept safe? – that was a question he was not prepared to answer. He was smiling now, a rueful smile. He hoped –perhaps against hope – that she had yet again cheated death.

SPES, IRA ET PROBRVM

His eyes fell to the levers at his right.

Maybe… maybe Missy did actually offer him more than an army. After all, she knew him well. There was no chance she could have really believed he would accept the army, even though part of him wanted one. He was too scared of the power, and she thought him too much of an hypocrite –since she saw them as so similar.

He knew she offered him herself, genuinely, as a friend, a companion, or a prisoner. To him, that was the real birthday present, as bittersweet as seeing her defeated and submissive had been.

Submissive indeed, she even would accept the shackles, the prison. _'If you like' _she had said. Her countenance was demure, her voice broken, her eyes defeated, anxious, agitated. And yes, he had wanted her with him. And that was one the reasons he now felt such profound despair.

His eyes grew wide as they reached the column, seemingly seeing it for the first time. She had given many things today, including the mix of angst, aggravation, excitement and love (?) that were the cocktail of his emotions at every one of their encounter. He chuckled lightly.

She had given him the coordinates of Gallifrey. Maybe it was a parting gift, maybe a secret she would have revealed later. Maybe she had still wanted him to be able to reach their native planet, even without her.

The Doctor shot up. On the console, he pulled and flicked levers, he pushed buttons. A few minutes later, he was at the designated coordinates.

Full of a trepidation no one would have expected of him had they seen him a few minutes before, he opened the doors of the sentient ship, not yet daring to look or smile. The Time Lord opened his eyes to darkness. Gallifrey was not here. The only thing present at this moment in time was the pitch black of space.

"_No! No! Wh-Where !? No! She couldn't…! She…!" _His thought scattered in every direction, his brain slowly and painfully grasping the idea that she had lied to him again, probably out of spite.

In silence, he closed the doors. He grabbed the banister tightly, and turned back to the console. As soon as he touched it, he exploded. The emotions he was barely holding in burst out in ineffable fury. The hurricane in him broke out and his violence was allowed full reign.

Body tense, eyebrows crossed, eyes flashing, teeth bared, he lifted a fist and brought it down strongly, hitting the console of his TARDIS with full force.

Again! Again and again, he hit it and hit it and hit it! The rhythm of his fists matched the pace of his silent thoughts.

"_Liar! Liar ! Liar liar liar! __Bitch! Liar ! Fool ! Idiot ! Bampot!" _He was angry at himself as much as he was angry at her.

Again and again, he hit, and again and again! And the sound of his blows reverberated by the ship's walls the only noise in the room –until utterly spent, he stopped moving. Then and only then, he let out a timid whimper.

He was as exhausted as he was sad, as sad as he was ashamed. He sat on the couch and tried to communicate his feelings and emotions to the TARDIS. But while she understood her Time Lord, she couldn't forgive so easily this last stunt.

He sighed again and fell back on the couch. Soon the exhaustion got the better of him, and he fell asleep.

TBC…

A/N: What did you think ?

"Tempestas animi" means "Storms in the heart" in Latin

"Culpa et lachrimae" means "Guilt and tears"

"Spes, ira et probrum" means "Hope, ire and shame"


	3. Chapter 3 : In tuis somniis

A/N : Hi, here goes the third chapter. It is a little fluffier in some regards :). There shall be a few more "contemplative" chapters before the action arrives, so bear with me ;)

**Disclaimer :** I don't own Doctor Who or any of its characters, they all belong to the BBC, Moffat and the actors.

**Title :** Per Chaos et Tenebras

**Summary :** well, a Twissy story beginning at the cemetery, and evolving from then on. (I still don't know where this is going, which is a tad embarrassing/annoying)

**Rating :** T, but may go up in later chapters (I don't know yet).

_**Chapter III : In tuis somniis**_

Your eyes are closed. It is a beautiful summery day and a breeze is slightly blowing. The wind is slightly messing your hair, and a few strands escape your intricate hairdo as you begin to twirl around. Spinning and spinning, you let the sun and the wind hit your face.

You open your icy blue eyes and rejoice at the sight of the orange sky. Smiling, you lift your arms and begin to dance around. The music is known only to you, but its rhythm is as old as your people… 1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-4.

Laughing, you prance and twirl. It is a joyful thing indeed to be home on a warm summery day, with wind in your hair, sun on your face, orange grass tickling your knees. Your laugh is young, carefree, fond and joyful, the one that has become the least expected of you. It is the one that is everything but manic.

Your hear someone chuckle tenderly, and sure enough, it is _him. _The Doctor. Your eyes meet his. The contact, though brief, relays everything positive and joyful you ever felt for each other. Love. Affection. Tenderness. Attraction. He is leaning against the large tree, but suddenly stands up, uncrossing his arms. Now, he seems ready to pounce. With playful smiles, you both start running, you fleeing and he trying to catch you. All you care about in the entire multiverse is here, and you couldn't feel happier.

Both breathless and laughing, you collapse on the ground, then roll around on the grass until the two of you feel your joints starting to slightly ache. Lying under that big tree near the brook, the two of you are lost in your own bubble. You snuggle up and your head is now lying on his chest. You let out an almost inaudible sigh of contentment as you listen to the rhythm of his heartbeat. The 1-2-3-4 that had always plagued you was now agreeable and peaceful, and you smile as he begins to play with a loose curl of your hair.

_Tuuuut tuuuuuuuuuuuuut tuut! Tuuuut tuuuuuuuuuuuuut tuut! Tuuuut tuuuuuuuuuuuuut tuut!_

You open your eyes and see you are in your own TARDIS. An alarm is going and it seems it woke you. Shaking off sleep and bitter disappointment, you rub your eyes. With a yawn, you check the console and make that infernal noise stop. You smile that wicked smile of yours.

It seems The Mistress has work to do…

At the same moment, the Doctor awakens on the couch of his own TARDIS. He sighs and runs his hand over his face.

"_That dream was quite nice."_ he thought with a smile, not wishing to acknowledge how strange it had been that the dream had been good – he was always plagued by nightmares, or that it was good despite – or perhaps because – it involved Missy and Gallifrey – he never thought any dream involving them would be quite so peaceful. He didn't want to think of the fact that it had been as if Missy had been physically there with him, that it had seemed his dream had stopped at the exact moment he hadn't been able to feel her anymore.

For the moment, he let it slide and focused on his ship. He tried to speak with her, but she was still giving him the cold shoulder.

TBC…

A/N: reviews make my day ;p

"In tuis somniis" means "In your dreams" in Latin


	4. Chapter 4 : Medicus, cura TARDIDEM !

A/N : Hello again ;) Here comes the fourth chapter, I hope you'll enjoy it and forgive the long delay.

**Disclaimer :** I don't own Doctor Who or any of its characters, they all belong to the BBC, Moffat and the actors.

**Title :** Per Chaos et Tenebras

**Summary :** well, a Twissy story beginning at the cemetery, and evolving from then on. And I now have at least a general idea of where I'm going

**Rating :** T, for the moment.

_**Chapter IV : Medicus, cura TARDIDEM ! **_

FRACTA REFICERE …

The Doctor sighed. The TARDIS was silent. With the way things went the day before, she would probably be for quite a while. He really could not blame her. He had better get up and begin to assess the damage.

"Come on, let's .. mooove it…"

He tried to get up, or at the very least move, but he found his legs shoulders and neck were rebelling. He looked around the room and down at himself- "Ouch! Stiff neck!" And it was no wonder he was all aching and stiff. Falling asleep on the stairs like a big bloated Wirrn larva, at his age!

Slowly, he managed to get up, groaning in pain at the tightness in his bloody muscles. An old rusty robot who had not seen an oilcan for centuries. Yep! That was what it felt like.

"_Grmph. Bloody stairs! Bloody brain for falling asleep in such an uncomfortable place."_

_Ngrlmbrrrrrrrrrrrrr_

Great! Now it was his stomach's turn to make itself known! He went to the kitchen to relieve himself of one of his two evils and it seemed that every one of his muscles had to make itself known on the way. Just bloody brilliant!

After a breakfast largely composed of strawberry jam on toast washed down with an – almost – unhealthy amount of tea, he came back to the console room as quickly as his aching limbs permitted it. He looked at the desolate place and, once again, the spectacle evoked sorrow and shame.

"_How… How could I…_"

He couldn't even explain it to himself. He had been taken by such a rage! And he didn't even know why!

"_Why the anger? She had lied, yes, but that wouldn't have been the first time, would it? Or maybe it was because of Gallifrey? Because she had died only a few hours before? Was it the fact that I…?"_

He ran his hand over his face. It didn't matter _why_. He had hurt his TARDIS. He didn't think he would ever forgive himself for it. Not really. Touching the ship as much as he could without making her uncomfortable, he tried to convey his feelings while he was assessing the damage.

He examined everything _very_ thoroughly. He wanted to make sure nothing was left to chance. He checked the console, the connecting wires, the dematerialisation circuit – thankfully, his Mark 1 was intact, the Heisenberg focusing device, the gyroscopic stabiliser, … everything down to the door release button. He could thank his lucky stars: the sustained damage was mostly restricted to the panels themselves. He would only have to change a few pieces and wires, and to redo a few connections.

"Alright then, let's do this!"

For once, he did not feel the need to impress – indeed, there was no young human to impress here – and he endeavoured to be as efficient as possible.

As he worked, he could feel the ship was no longer as hostile – or rather as passive aggressive – as she had been before even if she was still giving him the cold shoulder. What's more, she even giggled when he groaned because his sore muscles ached each time he tried a new position. Once, as he had decided to take a break and eat, he had shot up from his – decidedly – awkward position. She had even laughed. Not unkindly, of course. Rubbing his poor head – it felt like it was splitting in two, dammit! – he had slowly gotten up and calmed himself down as he ate his Kloparian chicken sandwich: if she mocked him, she wasn't as cross with him anymore. When he had come back to the console room, holding a ginormous pile of gadgets, panels and diverse articles, he had made the last intern modifications. He had even asked her if she wanted her Chameleon circuit repaired, but she had answered negatively. He tinkered away all afternoon and all evening, going on with the repairs as she wanted them. For once, he followed instructions closely, crooning Gallifreyan lullabies to his beloved ships.

As he went to bed that night, he had a long talk with her. He admitted that he too often took her for granted, and that he had acted as if she had not been sentient. In the end, they were both confident they might be the best of friends again – the thief and his Type 40, just like old times. He fell asleep hugging the floor of his rooms, on content smile on his face

ETSI IN SOMNIIS SOLUM FACIAS

You are sitting at the top of the Citadel. You let your hair down today, and it tickles your face in rhythm with the blowing wind. You look to the orange sky and smile softly. It might be slightly colder than you usually like – it is, after all, an early winter morning – but you would not want to be anywhere else in the entire universe.

All that matters is here. He is here, right beside you. You realise you are both so close your shoulders are almost touching and your hearts flutter. You turn your head and examine his face. He looks well, you decide. He certainly seems rested, and he looks as handsome as ever. You detail his face: the lines, the cross eyebrows, the crooked nose, the kissable lips.

As if he could feel your gaze, he opens his eyes and looks directly in yours. You can't help the blush colouring your cheeks, but you are too proud to avert your gaze. You raise a challenging eyebrow – he does the same. You begin to frown – now he chuckles.

Now you are puzzled. What in Rassilon's name is going on in this foggy brain of his? Really, sometimes you won-

He takes your face in his hands and kisses you. Deeply. With intensity. You kiss him back. As passionately. You savour the moment, afraid it would pass too soon.

He breaks the kiss and puts your hand on his hearts, his other hand playing with a strand of your hair.

"You win" he says, and you already feel addicted to the tenderness in his eyes.

"I know" you say, and as he embraces you, you hug him as tightly as you can lest he should go away.

You open your eyes and savour the last remnants of your dream. You close your eyes again and smile. For once, the accursed alarm signal didn't -

_Tuuuut tuuuuuuuuuuuuut tuut! Tuuuut tuuuuuuuuuuuuut tuut! Tuuuut tuuuuuuuuuuuuut tuut!_

woke you up. You throw it on the wall, your good mood all forgotten. You still try to go back to sleep for a little while, slightly wondering why you had a nice dream involving the Doctor and Gallifrey for the second time in row.

The Doctor opened his eyes, grinning like a fool. He got up from the floor and lazily threw his pillow back on his bed. He smiled fondly at the dream he just had. The Mistress had certainly looked gorgeous on the platform of the Citadel, with the wind blowing in her hair and Gallifrey's sun…

He closed his eyes and his grin fell. Gallifrey was no longer in his reach, and the Mistress –_ Missy _– had lied to him. As much as he wanted to see her again – if only to know how she had escaped from Gallifrey, he didn't think he could forgive her one day. The lie had been too cruel.

TBC…

A/N: What did you think of this chapter?

"Medicus, cura TARDIDEM" means "Doctor, heal thy TARDIS!"

For those who might wonder, I liberally decided to put the word TARDIS in the Latin 3rd declination (TARDIS, TARDIDIS, f.: the TARDIS), hence the –em for the accusative singular.

"Fracta reficere etsi in somniis solum facias" means "Repairing what was broken, even if you do it only in your dreams"


	5. Chapter 5 : Rosae longis spinis

A/N : Hello again ;) Here comes the fifth chapter, I hope you'll enjoy it. There shall be a more contemplative part and a part with more action

**Disclaimer :** I don't own Doctor Who or any of its characters, they all belong to the BBC, Moffat and the actors, that includes whatever par of _Death in Haven_'s dialogue that might be in this chapter.

**Title :** Per Chaos et Tenebras

**Summary :** well, a Twissy story beginning at the cemetery, and evolving from then on. And I now have at least a general idea of where I'm going

**Rating :** T, for the moment.

_**Chapter V : Rosae longis spinis **_

CLARA

As he made his way to the coffee shop where Clara was waiting for him –or had been waiting for him. He cringed at the thought that he was, once again, quite late –two weeks?- and that she would have every right to be even more angry with than she already might be. He stopped for a moment.

"_What a glorious day! What a glorious day on 21__st__ century Earth…" _He thought ironically. He was trying to distract his mind by every mean possible, but he could not stop his hands from shaking or his body from stiffening. One thing was certain: he certainly wasn't looking forward to going to this meeting.

"_Well, the contrary would have been strange. I want to see how Clara is faring, but at the same time, who in his right mind would want to meet someone who reminds him of the guilt of past actions – that he might have managed to push away otherwise..? I might be many things, but I'm not a masochist!" _The Doctor was indeed nothing if not good at pretending he did not feel or, rather, at avoiding to acknowledge his negative feelings. To every man his coping mechanism and to him, it was avoidance techniques. After all, he was a Time Lord, not a Dalek. _"And hooray for that!"_ He certainly was in a cynical mood today. Or was he trying to evade again ?

Bracing himself for the (decidedly) difficult conversation, he looked into the coffee shop to make sure that Clara was there. No sense in entering the shop if she wasn't there, right? The first thing he noticed was the décor – on which he focused for a brief moment because he did not yet want to face his young human yet elegant, the light and wood panelled walls gave a warm glow to the room. Incidentally, it left a good place to the comfort of the customers. Indeed, in of these modern places it would usually be torture for the back and bum to be sitting in the chairs for hours. Here, however, they were just comfortable enough for someone to sit for a few hours and sip coffee, while having a decent conversation or blackening the pages of a book. Shaking himself out of his last avoidance techniques, the Doctor spotted where Clara was, and briskly made his way into the room: there was, as they say, no sense in postponing the inevitable.

Clara looked up as he sat down. They didn't order anything. They said their brief usual form of greetings. They were both of them uneasy. Then, he noticed it, the bracelet Danny had when he died. Immediately he brought it up, cutting the meeting short.

"Danny figured out there was a way home"

"Of course" she said. Her lips stretching into a weak –fake- smile. She didn't look him in the eyes. From that alone, he could easily deduce that she was lying. When she lifted her head, he was sure of it. Danny might have found a way home, but everything had not gone according to plan… her eyes were bloodshot. What could be the reason for that except lack of sleep and lots of crying?

When she tried to talk-to tell him the truth (or some truth), however, he did not let her. He did not wish to hear either truth or lies. What she was going to say, he did not kn-did not WANT to know. So he lied, just like she did. He pretended everything was fine, that he had found Gallifrey, that the Mistress had told him the truth… he did not want to hear her talk to him about what "isn't fine" –wasn't he good at avoiding things ? And because he feigned, because he pretended, so did she. Really, their performance was worthy of an OSCAR.

"Me and Danny, we'll be fine. Go home, go be a king or something" she said.

"Yeah, I might do that" he answered. That was the time for fake pleasantries and fake joy while he could still see unshed tears in her eyes.

Only when they hugged did he let transpire that his little speech about Gallifrey was feigned –as if she had not understood already. He was leaving her. Their meeting was sealed, it was over, but he could not go without telling her _some_ truth:

"Never trust a hug" he said "it's just a way to hide your face". Just like words were a way to hide feelings and to lie.

When they said their last goodbyes, she thanked him, and he thanked her – and that part wasn't feigned. While they each went their own merry – or rather miserable – way, they both could remember that they were special to each other.

But it had such finality that, as he closed the TARDIS door and took off, he felt his hearts constrict. Once again, he had lost everything –Clara, Gallifrey, the Master (or rather Mistress, now) – but his ship, his faithful TARDIS, always there. Once again, he felt that his planet was lost to him forever – not that he had really liked it there, but it is not the same when you know that you can go back at any time. Once again, he had lost a companion and he did not think he could ever – or would ever take another one. Once again, Koschei had disappeared, had most probably died, and the probability he would see his oldest friend again. The sky of 21st century London had been grey and cloudy today, and the Doctor could not have found it more fitting.

DOMINA

A few hours later, you lazily stretch out on your bed like a cat after a rather long and pleasing nap. You still manage, however, to get out of bed, eat and dress in a jiffy before you go your TARDIS' console room. It is dark but does not feel like a funeral parlour. The dark of the black and grey theme contrasts with the profound but light orange, purple or blue hues, which gives the room a certain charm. Your tastes in desktop is excellent or, at least, wouldn't give a migraine to a chameleon.

You check your position – still in the Vortex, no change – enter the new coordinates, pull and flick switches, push a few well-chosen buttons, and you TARDIS vivaciously makes her way to your intended destination.

Today, your ship feels quite excited – really, after only two days in the Time Vortex! - she feels restless there, has dwelt there too much when you were preparing your confrontation with you Doctor. Now, any stay – whether short or extended – in that place was too long for her. But it is true that she has always been restless. After a few days in the Vortex, your TARDIS longs for a planet. After a few days on a planet, she longs for another planet or the Vortex. So it is with pleasure that she materialise on Regmacra I in the year 2156.

Grabbing your lethal smartphone, you don't forget to check that you wear around your neck the Sensorite (1) communication disc that you managed to "buy" from those seemingly shy little things. It would be surprising if you didn't. Indeed, while you were training to use the damn thing, you always managed to wear yourself out after using for an entire day: you always fell asleep wearing it.

"What a good tool" you say, smirking. The little things only used it to communicate, but YOU have discovered that you could also control creatures with it, if you concentrate just the right way. "Isn't telepathy a marvel?" you chuckle.

You slowly make your way to the doors, the anticipation building, setting your heart aflutter. Anxious to see whether your little plan will come to fruition, you already envision success. A shiver runs down your spine. You smile wickedly and open the doors, that automatically close behind you.

You silently examine your surroundings. You seem to be in one of the remaining – now unused – gas mining caves of Regmacra I. The gas is still there, and your respiratory bypass system kicks in, once you register the nature of it : Macra food (2). With your multifunction phone, you scan the expanse of smog and yellow rocks. Yes, you have found them! One of the few remaining colonies of remotely intelligent Macra. Time to see if your plan will work.

As you go about the tunnels, making sure you can't be noticed by anything, your mind wanders to the first Macra, doomed a few decades back by the Doctor saving a human colony. The Macra had managed to hypnotise the entire colony of humans – good for them ! – an had made them mine the gas on which they fed. However, the Doctor just happened to be there at the time, and had to interfere. What a waste of a good plan! And one that worked so well! Shortly after HE had gone on his way, the humans had reacted the only way they knew: by "taking care" of the menace (beautiful euphemism). In a few years, there will no longer be any Macra with the tiniest bit of intelligence above the usual beast and you need the teeniest bit.

"_Typical of the Doctor! He goes and ruin a perfectly good scheme and reduces a species to paragraphs of a History book. Then, goes his own merry way while the human … Not that he would ever stay and make sure everyone is treated fairly. Pfff, he always runs when the easy part is done!"_

Your musings don't impede your pace: you arrive to the Macra colony quite easily. As soon as they see you, they encircle you. No way out now. If you let yourself breathe, you know that your breathing would quicken. As it is, your pulse is racing, you feel excited and nervous. What a rush!

You put the disc to your forehead and concentrate. You are a very strong telepath, and only a few seconds pass before you effectively control one crab, then a second one, then a third one…

After the fifth one, however, it gets really difficult. Push though you might, you cannot bend more of them to your will. Even the link with those under your power shatters and you end up alone in a crowd of a hundred VERY angry giant crabs. And if that wasn't enough, you feel a migraine beginning.

"_What a lousy fucking day! When I get out of this dump of a planet that cretinous bampot of a Sensorite is going to know my fury!"_

A big Macra tries to grab you and you barely escape its claw only to find yourself prisoner of another one. Your revenge is becoming more and more lethal for the Sensorite moron who conveniently becomes the scapegoat of this delayed success.

_WHEEESH!_

The foolhardy crab is literally pulverised. The others have enough brain to be too afraid to attack you, now. They scatter like rats.

Fuming, you quickly make your way to your TARDIS and close the door. You jerk the disc away from your forehead. Not even trying to calm your ire, you punch the coordinates of the Sense-sphere, violently flick some levers and your TARDIS takes off. You impatiently wait for it to materialise.

You know you have to take out your anger on something, and the Sensorite is a VERY appealing victim. After all, you still need the crabs for one of the numerous plans you are pulling together. What's more, you cannot disappoint as a villainess !

TBC…

A/N:

"Rosae longis spinis" means "roses with long thorns"; "Domina" was used to designate the mistress of the house (you could say that the domina "ruled" the house, in a way).

(1) The _Sense-sphere _is the planet of the Sensorites (First Doctor's episode _The Sensorites_). According to the DW wiki ( wiki/Sense_Sphere) it "_was located in the same system as the Ood-sphere_".

(2) The planet in question had no name in the Second Doctor's episode _The Macra Terror_ (first appearance of the Macra), according to the DW wiki (cfr wiki/Macra) so I took the liberty of giving it one myself. The wiki also specifies that they were "_At some point before 2157, the Guild of Adjudicators dealt with the Macra. (PROSE: __Lucifer Rising__)_", hence the date : 2156.


End file.
